You know you're an outdoor runner when ...

Yesterday I compared my work schedule and the weather forecast with my training plan, and decided that I'd better get a workout in, even though I'd done two consecutive days of (short and fairly easy) running.

It was 30 degrees when I prepared to head out. That meant I put on my slightly thicker long-sleeved T-shirt but opted for the now-infamous purple scarf because it's thinner than my fleecy headbands.

I stepped outside at the same time as one of my neighbors, who smiled at me and said: "I can't even think about running this time of year."

I gave my usual two-pronged mild self-deprecation: that I can't handle a treadmill and that I can't handle starting out warm and getting warmer.

But I did so standing still, in a single layer of clothing, and felt OK — chilly, but not freezing. And I knew, once I started moving, that it would truly feel good outside.

I must really be an outdoor runner.

Head games

In the early stages of half marathon training, the runs are short, easy and generally unnoteworthy.

So I have to write about my clothing instead — today, the items I wear to keep my head warm.

Headgear story No. 1: On Saturday, I went out midmorning, when temperatures were maybe in the low 20s. I wore a fleecy headband to keep the ears warm, which also makes for even sweatier hair.

When I got back into the apartment building, I started shedding sweaty layers — gloves, windbreaker and headband.

I expected to feel relief as warm and clean air hit my skin. Instead, I felt a tenderness along my scalp.

Huh? It turned out that a quarter-sized patch of ice had formed in my hair and fused it to the headband.

I bet I looked super-cool standing there with a headband dangling from the side of my head, while I waited for the ice to melt a little more.

Headgear story No. 2: On Wednesday, I put in my first "long run" — five miles, nothing to brag about — of the training cycle.

As I headed down Bulldog Hill, thinking excitedly about the food and shower that awaited me back home, I noticed a car slowing down alongside me.

I slowed down too, thinking the driver was going to turn left at an intersection we were approaching. But instead, its window rolled down, and a woman stuck her head out.

"HEY! Where did you get that purple scarf you're wearing?"

Yes, I have taken to dressing like a cartoon eastern European grandmother:

Unsurprisingly, the woman did not ask about my skin care routine.

Because she caught me on the downhill, not the uphill, I was able to call back: "Sorry, my uncle gave it to me when I was 10 years old."

"Well, damn, it's a beautiful scarf!"

I had no idea I was such a fast-inista. Or that my uncle was so hip circa 1996. Good for us.

The return: Painful but rewarding

Five months ago, I signed off the blog, with an acknowledgment that it might be a Michael Jordan-esque retirement.

I don't remember missing it for quite some time, unless you count being mournfully touched when faithful readers told me that they missed it.

The decision to reboot lacks a quality explanation, just like the one to pull the plug did.

A writing assignment for The Des Moines Register on how to keep running through the winter probably deserves credit for laying subtle groundwork, but in total seriousness, I mostly just decided in recent days that I'd like to revive it.

(You know, the same way I started running — on a whim.)

My return to blogging coincides with my return to running in 2015.

Since I last blogged, I've notched very little of significance, mileage-wise and time-wise, but I did achieve the goals of making running fun for myself again and completing another Runner's World Holiday Run Streak.

After Jan. 1, I began my Post-Holiday Run-Free Streak. It was glorious. So was the weather, actually. Getting motivated to start running again is much easier when the sun is shining and temperatures reach the 40s and 50s.

My run last Saturday, the first since New Year's Day, was two flat miles in shorts. No walk breaks even necessary. It was a treat to run that day, not a chore, though my quads disagreed the next day.

Then on Tuesday, I ran the farthest I'd run all year: three miles. There were a few inclines, so I walked, but without guilt. (And without pants — shorts in January again!)

This time my calves and right hip complained a bit. I'm just about ready to go for a third shorts-in-January run, so we'll see what else has gotten rusty. Possibilities include: my bunions, my shoulders, my writing inspiration.

Shorts report for February

My optimism — or lack of pessimism — about February's temperatures back in January seems to have been a little misplaced:

We'll see what February brings. At the very least I should be able to leave the fuzzy hat and gloves behind here and there.

Well, yeah, I did, but that was true of a few glorious days in January too, I think. 

To take a more positive view of the past month, I guess we didn't have as many weather warnings as in January ... and I know that the shorts count was higher despite having fewer days in the month.

I got to wear shorts four times on outdoor runs this month: Feb. 13, 17, 18 and 19. Two of those days were even short-sleeve days to boot.

January's total was only three, which really, given that I live in the Midwest, is nothing to scoff at. 

Still, while I'm not itching to wear shorts in day-to-day life, I am definitely hoping for more running-shorts weather in March ... 

... unless the warmup reveals that I'm just not as fit as I was last time I did a 5K, in which case — leave me my cold-weather crutch, please.

Why random nice days during wintertime are great

Recently, it occurred to me that I could kill two birds with one stone, with a certain topic for a blog post.

If I wrote about why winter running is great, I could not only put some content up, but I might also end up convincing myself, thus saving me the half-hour it usually takes to psych me up.

But to be perfectly honest, inspiration was a little lacking. It also didn't help that my best recent run came on the warmest recent day.

So instead of appreciating the cold weather on its own merits, I'll have to settle for appreciating how the cold weather makes me appreciate milder temperatures ... as unimpressed as I am with myself for being so cliche here.

Seriously, though, while I wasn't frustrated at how slow last week's runs went, I was a little sad.

I did succumb once to "if I can barely do three miles, what right do I even have to think about thinking about doing a whole marathon?" though fortunately that thought dissipated once I got to the top of whatever hill I was climbing.

It's one thing to tell yourself that you're struggling because it's windy and below freezing; it's a whole lot more convincing when you log 5.25 miles at a 9:25 pace on a day when it's at least 10 degrees warmer.

With my 5K training plan kicking off next week, I needed to see that kind of result when I'm still in base-training mode — proof that there is something to build off. Especially as winter doesn't show any inclination to ease up.

Shorts report

Anyone else feel like we're stuck in the same weather loop?

One or two sunny, mild days that lift our spirits sky-high, only to be crushed by the deep freeze that follows and sticks around for several days before beginning the cycle anew.

I mean, I live in the Midwest by choice, and I don't have a gym membership by choice, so I'm not asking for sympathy.

If nothing else, the arctic spells make me determined to take advantage of the nicer days — not just by going outside, but by wearing shorts in January!

The legs were out last Sunday! (PS — I *am* wearing shorts in this photo. They just got cut off.)

I've managed to run outside in shorts three times so far this month, two of those times in a T-shirt as well. One of those days I probably could've been comfortable in tights, but I wasn't suffering in shorts, either.

I like to think of the mud splatters all up my calves as badges of honor, especially when I pass at least one runner who's clothed head to toe as I sneak the summer gear out months early.

Doesn't look like I'll have another such chance for a while, but we'll see what February brings. At the very least I should be able to leave the fuzzy hat and gloves behind here and there.

Recovering from hibernation and from that first run after

My brain is happy to report that hibernation ended Sunday. My muscles are now, finally, no longer annoyed to share that same news.

I lucked out majorly by picking Sunday as the day to quit plowing through holiday leftovers and move off the couch: Highs in the mid-40s called for shorts in January!

We went for an easy route, with no shame. The out-and-back from my place to Salisbury House and back was about 3.25 miles, with only short, slight hills. (We did have to leap over puddles quite a bit, though, so — sarcasm — we're not total slackers.)

Based on Cory's criticism of his own first post-hibernation run and my own experiences returning to running, I'd expected to suffer quite a bit. For me, though, the misery didn't hit until later.

I was a dutiful runner and made sure to stretch afterward, but that didn't prevent the stiffness in my upper lower body and the soreness around my shins/ankles.

However, I was lazy and didn't use the foam roller until Tuesday — um, for the first time since sometime in November — and holy moly was that a punishment. Surprisingly, it was my quads and not my IT bands that suffered the most (IT band was second-most painful).

The best part of course was re-realizing how much pleasant/chatty I feel on days that I run. Too bad that doesn't linger like the aches in unused muscles do.

Hibernation arrived at a good time

It's tough to maintain a running blog when one is not actually running, but rather than use this platform to yammer on about my personal life, I'm going to use my personal life as a backdrop to why now is a good time for me not to run:

* The historic cold blast arrived barely a week after the Holiday Running Streak ended. The six-day difference between the 2012 and 2013 streaks saved my buns ... or my whole body ... or my streak's existence ... or whatever it would've cost to hop along to a friend's gym on a guest pass ... or the people in the skywalk from seeing a weirdo run a mile through the skywalk.

* Post-holiday parties — friends who felt bad they didn't spend enough time at my place over New Year's made a return visit.

Because I made them wait an extra 30 minutes to see me to finish off the streak on New Year's Day, I luxuriated in NOT making them accommodate a hobby they respect my interest in but would really rather never participate in.

* Our household grew! A 9-year-old tabby named Ringo has moved in, and it's taking him a few days to adjust.

An excuse to post cat pictures? Guilty as charged, and unashamed.

* I was mentally and physically tired of running, while my muscles had just about had it with my limited stretching/nonexistent foam rolling.

Though I have to be honest and point out two reasons hibernation came at a bad time:

* The latest issue of Runner's World arrived recently, so not only do I feel guilty about not running, but I also feel guilty that I haven't used my spare time to even read about running.

* Holiday leftovers.

2013 run streak is in the books

It's official: Cory and I both won the 2013 Holiday Running Streak, and I can finally take a solid week off from running.

Last year's victory came with more of a sense of accomplishment, though: It was my first time, so I had doubts; Thanksgiving was earlier, so it took longer; and I suspect I did more longer runs.

I totaled 77.66 miles over 35 days, for an average run length of 2.2 miles. More than half of the days, I didn't break three miles (my mental milestone for a full run) — 16 single-mile days, plus three two-ish mile ones.

Cory and I agreed that we each had intended to rely less on single-mile runs, but this was definitely an example of life being what happens when you're busy making plans. Weather, travel, parties ... all legitimate reasons to not worry about getting more than one mile in.

And it's still a mile more than I might've run on the days when our highs were in single digits, when an ice storm struck Des Moines, when I spent all day unpacking my new apartment so I could cook for a Thanksgiving potluck at which I spent six hours, etc.

This year brought more fun in addition to more obstacles (and, um, six fewer days).

It's good to have online partners in this challenge, but it's more helpful to have a real-life partner with you — particularly on the days when you grumble that you really don't want to do this, and your partner reminds you there's always the option of just running to the half-mile mark though you'll probably want to keep going at that point.

(He's right, and he's actually punished for that because he is the one who wants to turn back at the half-mile mark, but you're loving the downhill route too much to remember how miserable the uphill return will be.)

The real-life buddy keeps you accountable when he's already gotten his run in for the day, while you've been procrastinating, or vice versa; and the real-life buddy will still laugh every time you're high-stepping through snow/tiptoeing around ice spots/rubbing feeling back into your frozen face and you say, "Man, this hobby sucks," or, "Why did we decide to do this stupid streak again?"

My real-life buddy and I concluded the streak together on New Year's Day, well before sidewalks were cleared in my neighborhood and also before most dog-walkers had been out to forge a trail for us.

It was like being a kid again, and we were already giddy at how close we were to finishing this streak when we heard honking and yelling — it was Zach and Chelsea, visiting friends waiting for us to get this one last run in so that they could see my new place and have brunch, driving somewhere to kill time by walking their dog.

Hooting and hollering about a quarter-mile from the end, no missed runs and no wipeouts at all? Sounds like a successful streak to me.

The ups and downs of the Holiday Running Streak

As it turns out, when I claimed the first run of the Holiday Running Streak was the toughest one, I was wrong. Or at least just not clairvoyant.

I actually almost broke my streak Friday. Almost.

The ice storm that day knocked out my power, and that in turn nearly knocked out my ambition to head outside and run a mile. (Holiday festivities meant I would not be able to do so after work, so it was now or never.)

Thankfully, the electricity was restored about an hour and a half before I had to be at work, and so was my desire to keep the streak alive. For as long as it took to reach the sidewalks, that is.

The first few steps were fine. The next few, and almost all the ones after that, were not. I eventually resorted to running back and forth on the snow-crusted grass — at least there was traction there.

Not my favorite run ever, but I got it done.

On the opposite end of the fun spectrum was last Monday's run ... or, rather, runs.

It was bitter cold when Regina and I met at Water Works Park, but because of "my stupid streak" (as she confided she thought), we still got three miles in. During the run, I received a call from a number I didn't recognize, so I didn't answer.

Once my phone came back from the dead, I discovered what the call was: The Cheese Shop telling me that two spots were open at that night's holiday beer class. My Christmas present for Cory had arrived!

It meant delaying his run further, from after work to after a plate of cheese and a dozen beer samples, but I think we both agreed it was worth it. Because I'm a good sport — and easily made to feel guilty — I agreed to run that single mile with him.

So off we went around 8:30 or 9 p.m. with recently filled bellies. The switch out of jeans and into (elastic-waisted) running pants felt good, and so did the laughter over how ill-advised this decision probably was. I even got a side stitch from giggling, which didn't feel physically nice, but I didn't mind.

More importantly, no one threw up, and most importantly, no one broke their streak.

The spoils of victory have arrived

Remember a few months back how I kept winning things, like competitions with boyfriends and free stuff from Another Mother Runner?

Well, the goodies — arm warmers and a baseball cap — arrived this week!

The obligatory selfie, before a four-mile test run:

No, I'm not chewing on a toothpick — that's a scratch in the mirror. Or a speck. Don't judge my housekeeping.

I was a little nervous about wearing so much new stuff on a run that definitely took me away from my place.

In particular, I wasn't sure that the arm warmers would fit properly — they're size medium, which in running tops I sometimes am, but which I almost never am in street clothes.

Also, the elastic on both ends brought back bad memories of my old iPhone arm case, which somehow both pinched and drooped/flopped all over.

Fortunately, this first-world problem did not occur. The warmers fit just fine and didn't creep anywhere; the hat, like all good hats, was adjustable. (And hot pink.)

So I'm happy with my free gear, but I do have to point out that this is a useless product review, because I didn't exactly test these in the conditions they're designed for.

The weather was just cool enough where I wanted to keep the sleeves on the entire time, rather than shed them midway through, and while being more visible to cars is a generally good idea, it wasn't exactly critical during a noon run along sidewalks in bright sunshine.

If nothing else, though, these freebies help the laundry rotation by converting two T-shirts into makeshift long-sleeved ones and adding one more forehead-sweat-catcher to my four sweatbands and one grubby baseball cap.

Things I've learned about running just one mile

I already knew from last year that running a single mile is an odd feeling at first, and that when you compare it with the misery you felt during the middle school mile run, it puts your fitness gains into amazing perspective.

The stretch of subzero wind chills and its corresponding single-mile-run streak have taught me a few more things about the experience:

1. Basically, my head will never not sweat if I'm moving faster than a brisk walk for more than a few steps.

2. My nose will still run, but I can make it back without a Kleenex break.

3. I still need to stretch afterwards. I'd gotten lazy about it, thanks to some poor time management, and after a few days of that, I woke up with my first charley horse in years.

I haven't skipped stretching since, and the charley horses haven't recurred. Correlation doesn't mean causation, but right now, I think my theory is a good one.

4. Though I happily miss out on the runger, I still catch a brief runner's high. That also might just be relief that the Holiday Run Streak lives another day, but hey, whatever lifts the spirits!

Two types of people I'm thankful for

As I wrote last year, I sometimes fear more than wintry conditions when I brave less-than-ideal weather to run outdoors. I worry that others' judgment could turn aggressive.

I've had lots of chances to test Des Moines' tolerance, unfortunately, given the bone-chilling cold that doesn't seem to be budging; but I'm happy to report that no one has even honked at me.

Late last week, as the temperatures took a nose dive, I kept an eye out and exhaled with relief each time I saw another runner. It's not like there's really safety in numbers, particularly when we're going in opposite directions — but maybe I subconsciously feel less conspicuous.

During this stretch of single-mile runs, though, I've noticed there's decent sidewalk traffic already in my stretch of Des Moines, no matter what the wind chill is: College students and dog owners are still out and about.

Beyond providing camouflage, they also reassure me that yes, it's still OK for humans to be outside in this weather, and we can even exchange a quick grimace that while it's OK, it's not fun. (More pragmatically: If the sidewalks are used, they're likely to be cleared in a timely, thorough manner.)

It's true that drivers are still likely to think I'm a pretentious, self-righteous jerk for being outdoors by choice, while they'll see the students/dog parents as just unlucky souls not dodging responsibility because it's cold.

But that's OK, because their misery is my company.

A look at the run streak since I last posted:

Friday: 1 mile. Obligatory observation that getting dressed for a single mile in single-digit temperatures takes more time than actually running.

Saturday: 1 mile. Cory joined me for this one. Out-and-back miles pass even faster when you have company.

Sunday: 2.5 miles. Cory and I were both pretty excited for our first snowy run of the season. We would've run longer, but we had plans later. Big, fluffy flakes make the hills seem slightly less awful.

Monday: 1 mile. I'd daydreamed about scattering a few short runs throughout the day, because I'd been feeling bad about the streak-within-a-streak of running less than three miles, but it just didn't happen. I also finally remembered, though, that these are runs I wouldn't have done were it not for the streak.

Holiday Running Streak: One week in the books

When I mentioned earlier this week that the first day of my streak was the hardest, I had no idea how wrong I was.

In descending order of ease/ascending order of difficulty, here's how the follow-up runs have gone.

Monday: 3 miles. I waited until later in the evening so I could have some company, so I missed another chance to do shorts in December. I took full advantage, however, of a chance to be a running despot.

We'd gone two miles (one lap around Gray's Lake), and I said I'd keep going if anyone else wanted to. Regina didn't want to and left; Cory didn't want to but continued for another mile with me.

I guess I just find two miles to be a weird increment — if I'm going to break a sweat, I might as well do it for three miles/30 minutes; if I'm aiming for a token run streak entry, no point in doing any more than a mile.

Tuesday: 4.7 miles. The target was closer to four, but I was set on reaching the intersection of two trails, and that point happened to be a slight downhill. No regrets, though, not even after the uphills.

My route took me through Greenwood Park, and even in the ugly transition period we're in (from fall to winter), it was so picturesque. There's a pond! A theater shell! Woods! I can't wait to run through it this spring.

This memorial caught me off-guard in Ashworth Park.

Wednesday: 3.25 miles. Our weather had started to turn slightly. Both Tuesday and Wednesday were long-sleeve days, but Wednesday added mist, fog, clouds and raw-at-times wind.

I was intent on getting at least three miles in at this point, however, because I'd seen what a cold front was going to do, and I was scared. So I ran to Salisbury House and back, admiring the many other majestic houses along the way.

Never mind the anachronistic cars outside the Tudor-style mansion.

Just as I was feeling incredibly grateful for having such a beautiful old neighborhood so close to me, I hit one of the steepest inclines I've found in Des Moines. I felt like I was running in sand, it was so dramatic, but fortunately it was short. Hill repeats in the spring?

Thursday: 1.03 miles. The Holiday Running Streak is now officially in peril. Our high was reached at 12:05 a.m., when I was most definitely NOT running, and it was a mere 19 degrees. I'd searched Weather.com in vain for a relatively warm (emphasis on relatively) time to run and found nothing until next Tuesday, maybe.

So post-nap, I pulled on long johns underneath my tights, zipped my jacket over my warmer long-sleeved shirt all the way to my chin, and basically covered my entire head (fuzzy headband, face/neck warmer and sunglasses).

I did manage to avoid most of the wind gusts, either by smart route planning or procrastination, and I got an A- in dressing. (Socks should've overlapped my tights, or vice versa.) The worst part, though, was knowing how many more days I'll have to dump distance in favor of not catching hypothermia.

Yeah, I definitely take the streak too seriously.

Living History Farms Race photos

Yesterday we binged — on food and on words about running. Today we hold back.

The '80s, the '90s and the '60s, before we set off to find the '70s.

I made the bell bottoms. Seriously. That's how I prioritized my time during a cross-town move. 

We had our photo taken as a group after the race, but Regina's phone ate the evidence, and none of my neighbors were around to take a group shot in the hall of my soon-to-be-former apartment complex.  

Gross. 

To close the book on Living History Farms 2013: When Matt, our '70s representative, checked the weather shortly before race time, he found that the temperature was 13 ... but the wind chill was 6 below.

How did we flower children survive?

Belated race report: Living History Farms Race

What am I grateful for this Thanksgiving? Well, a number of things, but the most relevant one to this post and blog audience is that I did the Living History Farms Race and that I survived.

(I'm also grateful that if I had to plunk a race in the middle of a week's worth of moving/unpacking, it was one that didn't require a serious training plan. There's my excuse for my silence.)

So about Living History Farms. People warned me about the bottlenecks, the costumes and the water crossings. I listened closely and believed them, but there are some things one must experience to truly understand.

The bottlenecks worked to our advantage, in one respect, because one member of the team hadn't ever run more than three miles, and another had maxed out at four miles. There may have been equal parts running and walking in this race from our team, but almost none of it can be blamed on fitness.

The bad part of it, duh, was that we were moving slower in less-than-ideal conditions. Also, beyond the cold, the terrain made me nostalgic for the forest preserves back in Rockton and what a fun challenge running there was. When else will I look back on difficult running with such fondness?

As for the costumes, I was pleased with how well our team members managed to represent our respective decades -- yep, that was our theme -- despite our last-minute tendencies and the incredible cold.

Other runners definitely delivered on the costume front as well. I was surprised to see nearly naked guys committed to their plans of being nearly naked, but I guess I shouldn't have been. The costume that made me laugh the most, though, was the adult African-American man dressed as Dorothy from "The Wizard of Oz."

Close runners-up were the people who wore plastic butt cheeks on the outside of their tights, but they lose points because I had to stare at that ridiculous image as I scrambled up a hill that I honestly was afraid I'd slide back down.

And now for the water crossings and, equally important, the actual weather reading. I'd read online that there would be eight crossings and that midday highs would be in the low 20s ... but very little prepares you for that reality.

Neither, honestly, was quite as bad as I expected. The first creek was fairly shallow; the second and third ones (back to back) were deep and made me yell for quite a few yards afterward; and after that, it became a point of pride.

The prerace warning of a crotch-deep creek never came to fruition, unless someone shorter than me was the measuring stick (unlikely), but the warning of "wear shoes you don't want anymore" was spot-on. RIP, pink Brooks Ghosts.

My biggest hurdle with the water and temperature was self-inflicted: The flares on my bell bottoms froze after the second-third creek crossing, so instead of merely kicking the cloth out of the way as I climbed a hill, I nearly tripped a few times. CLOP-CLOP-CLOP was how I sounded at the end.

Now for my great reveal, for those not there. The temperature at the end of the race? 16 degrees.

And by "end of the race," I mean that we took off at 9 a.m., ran/walked/climbed/waded for 2:23:01, had a bowl of beef stew and walked back to the car to check our phones ... at THAT point, it was 16 degrees.

Before the race, I was a little cold and a little whiny; during the race, I was a little cold when the wind blew and a little whiny; after the race, I was absolutely freezing -- like, my fingers were painful -- and absolutely insistent that we get into the car as soon as possible.

OK, so what does all this rambling mean, as far as my experience goes? As I said earlier, I'm glad I did it ... but I'm perfectly fine never doing it again.

I like completing/attending Des Moines' signature events, and having teams at them is definitely a bonus. Doing LHF this year -- without skipping a single water obstacle -- earns us some serious bragging rights, especially when more than 1,000 runners backed out because of the weather.

But I think I prefer the challenge of running the entire length, or of pushing myself to finish as fast as possible, to having the quirks of LHF or the Warrior Dash.

To come full (enormous) circle? I'm grateful for the discipline that training-required races provide, for the huge sense of accomplishment they give me afterward and for the light-hearted races in between that make me realize this.

I'm getting cold feet, literally

It was only a few days ago that I looked at the 10-day weather forecast and saw little chance of precipitation and highs in the 40s for Saturday's Living History Farms run.

My celebration was premature, however. Depending on which forecast I look at, the highs are in the mid-20s to maybe 30, if we're lucky.

A co-worker who's survived Living History Farms about four times offered some words of encouragement, when I suggested that perhaps this was not the best reason to use my final vacation day of 2013: "When it's that cold, the mud won't be muddy anymore. And the creeks might be frozen too!"

I'm not being sarcastic when I say that is somewhat comforting: I don't like getting my feet wet. (OK, I generally don't like being wet outside of the shower or the hot tub.)

That means the run will likely be fine — once I get going in the cold, I warm up pretty quickly. And on race day, getting going isn't as much of a challenge as it is during everyday runs ("just one more chapter/blog post, then I run").

It's the waiting around before the race that I dread.

I'm doing night-before packet pickup, so that will shave some time off the amount I'll need to huddle with my teammates in hopes of not freezing.

But that walk to the start ... and any extra time we left to make sure we'd get there in time ... I have a feeling that some profane and grumpy language will be used.

End whining, cue bragging: At least I won't be alone — Regina and Cory will be braving the cold with me — and at least we came up with a cohesive, warm costume idea for our team.

My victory as Julius Caesar continues to inspire me, and I'm putting forth some actual effort on the costume. Stay tuned for the great reveal!

Shivering ... with delight?

As I mentioned previously, dressing for winter runs — and just getting excited about running, period — has been a struggle of late.

Once a week, though, I've relied on peer pressure to get me out there. The recent strategy is, after too much eating and sitting on a Saturday, I text Regina on a Sunday to make plans to run Monday.

Including this past Monday, we are three for three on following through on those plans. What's more impressive: Our most recent one was on the evening of Des Moines' first snow.

Throw on a blanket as you read the key figures from the Monday night run:

28: Actual temperature.

16: Feels-like temperature.

18: Wind, in mph.

10: Minutes after sunset that this run began.

1: Other people spotted during this lap around Gray's Lake. (Two other runners wrapped up before we started, and one biker took off before us.)

I arrived before Regina did and made the mistake of looking up these weather stats. If I hadn't thought it would be rude to bail while she was en route, I would have. (I made another mistake in confessing this to her, at which point she told me that it would've been OK this particular time.)

Instead, I went through with it. And you know what? It was actually kind of fun. Very cold, yes, and slippery in spots. But I'm glad I put on an extra layer instead of texting "actually never mind."

Despite the pitch-black sky at 6 p.m., as I drove back, I felt cheerful and enthusiastic — OK, less negative — about winter running. I might not go into early hibernation after all!

The puzzle of what to wear

The past two times I've gone running, I've had an uncomfortable realization:

Those people I secretly laughed at for being so overdressed? I, right now, am one of them.

Each time I've set out in tights, a windbreaker, a fuzzy hat and gloves, I've ended the run wishing I'd left at least two, if not three, of those items at home.

One run even found me bundling the gloves and hat in my windbreaker as I slogged up a hill, the sweat pouring unchecked down my face.

I bet those drivers on Westown Parkway were totally inspired to pick up running, after watching that spectacle. (Sarcasm.)

The offending hat and windbreaker. This is my "I-don't-wanna-go-run!" face. The "too-hot!" face is much redder and wetter.

Is this better or worse than the too-cold run to which my overdressing is reacting? Probably, because overdressing at least gets me out the door. Right now, this Viking princess is more princess than Viking.

But all self-deprecation aside — I know, when I'm not alternately thinking "SO HOT" and "I hate running," that it just takes a few runs to fine-tune my winter clothing strategy.

I'll also choose to believe, in lieu of lumping myself in with the springtime windbreaker-and-earmuff-wearers, that I overheated because I ran such smart routes: The same obsession with weather.com that uncovered "feels like 35," sending panic through my veins, also showed me the wind direction.

That meant I planned my loop going into the wind, then returning with it at my back, as running gurus have advised. So when my overheated body turned around to head home, it at least stayed too warm instead of turning into an icicle made of sweat (a sweatsicle?).

You can't nail every decision

My dad gave me a good piece of advice a few years back that I remind myself of fairly frequently: You're not going to be able to make every decision perfectly.

Most recently, this applied to scheduling my long run. I was out on a five-miler last Friday, daydreaming about how pleasant the weather was, how good my legs were feeling and how much time I would have to do other things post-run, when I thought: "Maybe I should just repeat this route and knock out the 10-miler."

But then, of course, I came up with several reasons to just wait. Hours later, as I checked the weekend weather forecast, I saw snow and lower temperatures through Monday (the last day of my "weekend"), and kicked myself until Dad's saying grew louder than the "should" statements.

When Sunday afternoon — the first time I had available to do a long run — rolled around, I came up with more reasons to wait: The wind was biting, and the flurries made it hard to see; the ground might be messy; I was tired; I had errands to run; etc. After all, the weather widget predicted no snow Monday afternoon.

Cue the Monday midmorning weather check: Snow had fallen, temps remained low, winds were going to pick up in the afternoon. Crap.

I also knew, though that, the longer I waited, the less likely I was to accomplish the run. So I girded my loins and headed out.

It wasn't my best long run, but it was far from my worst. One thing I found myself not minding at all were the snowy rec paths — they were pretty and cushioned that way! — yet as I did errands in the afternoon, noting the dry sidewalks, I heard it again: "You went too early, Sadye. Should've waited until the afternoon."

This time, instead of Dad's voice, I heard the voice of Kristin Armstrong, Runner's World blogger (and, yes, ex-wife of Lance). Her most recent post addressed the courage to try:

"How often do we all do that? Think that we will try the thing when we are better prepared to try?

"Isn’t that the point of 'try'?"

I'd been doing that all weekend, and by running despite the conditions — and in fact surviving just fine — I'd put two powerful pieces of advice into action. I'm not a pro athlete in a temperate climate; timing a run "perfectly" isn't going to happen every single time, by any means.

And what do I gain by waiting for that ideal balance? I'm training for race day, not for perfect running day ... which the race day could very well not be. (See Rockford Half Marathon 2012 and its noon temperature of 80 degrees.)

By not waiting, I gained more confidence for the half marathon. I'd been averaging some good speed on long runs, but in good weather; in less-than-ideal weather this time, I averaged just a little faster than what I've done previously.

Additionally,  the fatigue I felt was far more mental than physical. Something I'm doing is paying off!